Me And My Jealousy
by redhandedwickedlittlemachine
Summary: Was Ezra really sick when he ditched the play and Mrs. Welch? My take on what could have happened after he left. Rating for language. ONESHOT!


**A/N: **I kept putting off writing this oneshot, even though I desperately wanted to for about two weeks now. To be honest, I think its because understand Ezra's pain, and the idea of putting myself back in the situation of remembering what it was like to love someone so much and not be able to be with them… It was a really hard thing to get through. I only recently came out on the other side of it, and while I'm happier now, I try to avoid putting myself back in that situation. But somehow this oneshot just keeps beckoning…. So, now I'm off to watch 217. You all enjoy! :)

**Disclaimer: **Me and My Jealousy is by Lee DeWyze. I suggest you go find it and listen to it while you read this :) I OWN NOTHING!

_Me And My Jealousy_

_I lie awake at night…_

_You keep running through my mind…_

He settled the bottle of scotch down on the counter in his kitchen, gripping the counter tightly with his free hand while his other hand was wrapped around the bottle. Fuck using a glass. He wasn't in the mood to take the time to pour the liquor into a glass.

The pain that radiated through his body was refusing to quell, regardless of how much alcohol he drank. He was sure that if he went out to a bar and surrounded himself with a few half-in-the-bottle women, they could ease his troubles, but that only made him feel sick. Partly because he was sure Jackie would be the first to throw herself at him, but mostly because there wasn't anyone else he wanted.

He tipped the bottle back and took a long drink. The scotch burned all the way down, and he relished it.

He hadn't lied, when he'd told Mrs. Welch that he didn't feel well. The mere idea of being in the same proximity as Aria and not being able to touch her…talk to her, even. It hurt too damn much. His chest literally ached from how badly he missed her. Even though he wasn't returning her calls, he'd kept every one of her messages, just so he could hear her voice.

_I think about holding you; there's nothing much that I can do_

_The seconds and the minutes, the minutes and the hours…_

He knew that there was a chance she would try and pull something like this. Try and get out to see him. He had figured that after getting her phone call the night before, asking him to be patient. He was trying to be. Even though he wouldn't take her calls for fear of her father actually going to the police, he was desperately trying to wait for her.

But just as much as he thought she might be suffering without him, every day without her was killing him. It brought up that ever-present thought that was always in the back of his mind. Aria was sixteen; one day, whether it was 2 days from now or five years, she was going to want to explore something more than their relationship. Ezra had already had that chance, and he knew that he wanted to be with her. Hell, he knew that in five or ten years, he wanted to marry her. He worshipped the fucking ground she walked on.

It had ripped his heart out to see her with that boy at the theatre tonight. Even **if** he was there with someone else, it was only because he and Aria couldn't be there together. Hell, he'd considered calling her several times before he ultimately called up Mrs. Welch. He had thought about asking her to go with him. Maybe she could sneak out? A fake story with Spencer, like when they had gone to the art exhibit in Philly.

He stumbled over his own feet and swayed. He knew he was far past just drunk. He really didn't give a damn. At least a bad hangover reminded him he was still alive, and kept the pain caused by not being able to see Aria to a minimum. Mostly because it was taken over by the pain from repeated vomiting and awful headaches, but he figured it was a fair trade.

He fell against his couch and took another drink from the bottle. He'd only bought it a few days before they had gone to tell her parents about their relationship, and yet he was finishing it off already. There were several more bottles of alcohol in the fridge. He was fancying the vodka. He _**wanted**_ something that would burn all the way down.

_They tell me I should just move on…_

_It's easier said than done…_

He remembered how, after he had caught a cab home, he had called Hardy that first night and told him about everything that had happened, including how Jackie had meddled.

After Hardy launched into an attack about how Jackie was a psycho bitch and Ezra never should've given her the time of day, he proceeded to tell him that what had happened was probably for the best. Hell, he'd given him advice that he probably should've taken; stay away and don't justify your actions. Let the fire die and leave it be.

Instead, he **had** justified his actions to Byron; or at least tried to. He understood that Byron had seen his unmade bed and assumed things, even if they hadn't actually happened. Aria hadn't been in his apartment in weeks. His disheveled bed was caused by the fact that his sleep had become restless with all of the things on his mind.

He was terrified of losing her for good. As much as he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, he was constantly reminded of the fact that Aria was just sixteen. Regardless of the fact that her seventeenth birthday was coming soon, she still had a long way to go before she would understand the logic of relationships like he did. Hell, there was probably someone out there who would tell him that, at twenty two, he didn't understand everything there was to know about relationships.

_When you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose…_

His stomach churned, and he knew he was going to vomit. It probably didn't help that he'd been guzzling down alcohol from the minute he'd bought a six pack from the liquor store a block away from the playhouse. He'd drank most of it in the back of the cab and then finished it off after getting home.

He pushed up from his spot on the couch and wavered as he tried to steady himself. He walked across the apartment, using the walls and furniture to keep himself from falling to the floor as he made his way towards the bathroom.

He flipped on the light switch as he pushed the bathroom door open, and then sank to his knees. He pushed the toilet lid open and slouched, resting an arm across the front of the bowl. He still had the bottle scotch in one of his hands. He settled it next to him and rested his head over his arm.

As his eyes closed, her face glared brightly in his mind. How she had smiled when she'd seen him. How she kept looking at him while he was getting his tickets.

He suddenly pushed up and leaned over the toilet bowl. Shot after shot of alcohol raced back up through his body and met the toilet bowl. It was a mixture of beer, the scotch, and stomach acid hitting the porcelain bowl as he gripped it tight with his fingers.

For a split second, it didn't hurt so god damned bad that Aria wasn't there. For a split second, the only thing that hurt was the burning in his throat.

_Tell me, is it better when you're lying in bed…_

_I wonder if you ever think of me instead…._

Hot tears ran down his face as he gripped the bowl again, heaving over and over again long after his stomach was empty. Pure stomach acid burned the lining of his throat as he sat there, trying to get a grip on his body.

He managed to get a normal breath in after a few minutes, and he coughed. A whimper escaped him simply from the fact that he hadn't been able to breathe. He reached up and hit the flusher and then picked up the bottle of scotch next to him. He desperately wanted to finish it off, but the logical part of him took over. He poured the last of the bottle into the toilet and then hit the flusher again.

He leaned back against the wall behind him, tossing the empty bottle into the trash in front of him, and rested his forehead against his knees. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he was too tired to answer it.

_Jealous of the hand that you hold_

_The city in the winter never seemed this cold…_

His door opened a few minutes later. He thought to look up and see who it was, but his head was throbbing too hard. "Who'sit?" He slurred.

"Me, Z."

Ezra waved a weary hand, still keeping his head on his knees. "Wassup?"

"Apparently you're all the way in the bottle," Hardy replied.

"I threw-wup," Ezra slurred. "A _lawt_." He lifted his head up slowly, shaking it. "Fever and alcohol don' m-mix well-ll."

Hardy kneeled down beside him and placed a cup of coffee in Ezra's hand. He placed the back of his hand against Ezra's sweat-coated forehead.

"No, you're right. They don't mix well." He stood up and began digging through the medicine cabinet while Ezra rested his head back down against his knees.

Hardy looked down, and spotted the bottle in the trash. He pulled the thermometer from the cabinet and knelt back down next to Ezra. He grabbed the empty bottle from the trash. He shook Ezra's shoulder.

No answer.

He shook it again, harder.

"Mmm?" Ezra groaned, slowly lifting his head up again. Hardy turned on the thermometer and placed it in Ezra's ear at the same time as he lifted up the empty bottle.

"Did you finish this, or dump it, Z?"

Ezra looked at the bottle wearily. "Dumped."

The thermometer beeped a few moments later. Hardy checked the read-out.

"A hundred and three. Nice job, Z. A hangover **and** the flu."

He placed the empty bottle back into the trash and then pushed up from the floor and placed the thermometer on the sink. He took the coffee cup from Ezra's hand and settled it on the sink as well before he leaned down and picked up the other man from the floor. Ezra's head lolled on his shoulder as Hardy walked across the room and placed Ezra on his bed.

He proceeded to remove Ezra's pants and struggled to get his shirt off of him before he wrapped the blanket around Ezra. He crossed the room again and retrieved the coffee from the bathroom as well as Tylenol and fever reducer.

He walked back over to Ezra's bed and shook him awake. Ezra groaned, whining about being left alone.

"Sit up and take this before you spike a fever too high to be brought down," Hardy growled.

Ezra scowled at him as he opened his eyes. He took the meds and washed it down with a sip of the coffee Hardy had bought him before lying back down against his pillows.

Hardy didn't know whether to be proud of Ezra for fucking up so royally, or pissed at him for putting himself in such a dangerous position.

Hardy fully understood the parameters of their friendship. Sometimes he wondered if Ezra did, though. Hardy was supposed to be the one who did idiotic shit like get way too drunk, but not be stupid enough to and drive. Ezra was supposed to be the one who berated him for making such a dumb choice.

Yet, this was the second time he'd seen this man drink himself so far into a bottle that he didn't now which was up. The first time had been when things had ended with Jackie. And Hardy had fully understood that. Ezra had asked Jackie to marry him, and she had broken his heart. Hell, she had cheated on him, even though he was too nice of a person to tell people that.

Even so, Hardy knew he'd be lying to himself if he didn't say that seeing Ezra like this scared him. He'd seen Ezra with a mixture of the flu and a hangover before, and it was never pretty. What worried him more was the fact that a severe depression was also looming over his best friend, as well as what was probably the worst hangover he was ever going to have.

Hardy grabbed a washcloth from the linen closet and wetted it in the sink before wringing it out and walking back over to Ezra. He placed the cool cloth over Ezra's forehead.

"S'cold!" He whined, pushing it off his head. Even half asleep and drunk, he was at least marginally aware of his surroundings.

Hardy grabbed the cloth and placed it back on Ezra's forehead, grabbing both of his wrists when he tried to push it away again.

"Stop," he said firmly. "You are too sick to have things your way right now. Shouldn't have gotten so damned drunk. Push it off again and I'll tie your hands behind your back," he threatened.

Ezra opened his eyes to just barely more than slits. "Asshole."

Hardy rolled his eyes. "Shut up and go back to sleep. You sound like a two year old."

He stood up and walked over to the kitchen. Once Ezra was once again sleeping, he opened up the fridge and began to remove the alcohol. He knew that Ezra wasn't an alcoholic by any means, but he also knew that when he was hurting like this, he could do some serious damage.

He placed every one of the six various bottles of alcohol and whiskey on the counter and then found a box to put them in. When he left in the morning, he'd make sure that the alcohol went home with him until Ezra had his head on straight again.

After he had all of the alcohol set aside, he cleaned through Ezra's fridge and then just generally tidied up the apartment. He made sure there was a glass of water on the bedside table and placed a large bucket next to the bed. Even as he focused on things as mundane as wiping down the counters, he was ready when he needed to be, to drop whatever he was doing if he was needed.

More than once, Ezra woke struggling to breathe as his body gave dry heaves. Hardy did his best to encourage Ezra to drink the water he'd gotten him, and though it didn't do much, he was at least actually vomiting instead of just dry heaving.

Ezra's phone went off on the table around 11 PM. Hardy looked down at the screen. It was Aria.

He flipped the phone open. "Hey. This is Hardy."

_"What's going on? Where's…Z?"_

"He's sleeping," Hardy replied quietly. "What happened tonight?"

"_I don't know. I was at the playhouse with a friend. He showed up with Mrs. Welch, but she said he left ten minutes into the show. Said he was sick. I figured he just didn't want to be around me." _

Hardy looked up at Ezra. He was curled into the fetal position with his blankets tugged tightly around his body. "No, he's definitely sick. But I meant what happened with you two? I know he told your parents, but it's seriously fucked him up."

"_Is he okay?" _Aria's voice was genuinely worried.

Hardy had been staring down at the counter, but he looked up suddenly when he heard Ezra cough in his sleep. "He's got a bad case of the flu, and he tied it in with a hangover, but he's resting right now. He'll be fine in a couple of days."

The line was quiet for a while. He wondered if she'd hung up. "Aria?"

_"Still love her," _Ezra slurred in his sleep. _"I'm in love with Aria." _

"_I never wanted to hurt him," _she said finally. She sounded upset. _"This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Hurting him like this."  
><em>

Hardy sighed. "Far be it for me to judge, because I don't really know you but I know that Ezra really loves you, and wants nothing more than to be with you, so he'd kill me if I didn't tell you to stop blaming yourself. You're both just as responsible for the situation at hand, and I know if there's a way to make this work between you two, he'll figure it out. You have to take your own advice. Be patient."

"_Yeah_," Aria said over the line. _"Thanks."  
><em>

Hardy nodded, though she couldn't see him. "Sure." His head popped up as Ezra struggled to push up off the bed in the tangled mess of his blankets. "I gotta go before he throws up all over himself, but don't give up, okay? Cause if you do, he will, and this will get a whole lot worse."

_"Yeah. Thanks again. Bye." _

Hardy flipped the phone shut and dashed across the room. He picked up the bucket off the floor just in time, and Ezra threw up every drop of water he'd drank from the cup Hardy had gotten him. When he was sure he was done getting sick, he laid back down on the bed. Hardy took the washcloth that had fallen off of Ezra's head and walked over to the kitchen sink to wet it again. He wrung it out again and then walked back over to Ezra and placed it on his forehead. He shivered at the initial contact and then turned over in his blankets.

"Who was on the phone?" He was still slurring his words.

"Someone who doesn't want you to kill yourself over a bottle of alcohol and the flu," Hardy replied. "Just rest. And don't worry. Aria still loves you. You two will figure out how to make this work."

"But-"

Hardy narrowed his eyes at Ezra as he opened his eyes to look up at him. "**No buts. **Just rest. Close your eyes and go back to sleep. I'll be here."

Ezra closed his eyes again. Less than a minute later, he was asleep again.


End file.
